


Zero Sum

by Chocolatpen



Series: The Syndicate [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Injury, Corruption, Family Drama, Fuck Or Die, Gangs, Kidnapping, M/M, Mafia AU, Multi, Psychological Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatpen/pseuds/Chocolatpen
Summary: ‘“Knowledge is Power,” she said; “and I never sell Power.”’Oikawa believes that he has no innocence left to take. Kageyama, on the other hand, has much more at risk.And damn Oikawa if he, for once in his life, doesn't manage to be a good older brother.





	1. Plain Jane

**Author's Note:**

> **Sidestory for the Syndicate AU! Please read Royal Flush before this :) Everything past this point will be considered a spoiler. You have been warned!
> 
> Okay so I think posting on Monday isn't good for views or something? But whatever, this is a surprise for my patient and awesome subscribers! Happy Monday!! Hopefully this chases away your Monday blues (at least a little) ^^
> 
> Chronologically, this takes place way before RF, and pre-Joker as well. Do take note of the many many many warnings! 
> 
> If you have any queries or want to contact me outside of AO3, I just made a tumblr: chocolatpen.tumblr.com
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this!! Please do leave some kudos/comments if you do :)

 

 

Crickets chirp noisily in the distance; the oddly soothing soundtrack to lazy days under the summer heat. Oikawa shifts in his place on the grass as a soft wind picks up around them, ruffling the deep green leaves on their favourite tree. There is a calloused hand wrapped gently around his own, even though Iwaizumi’s bug net is resting beside him and his mouth is hanging open with little snores.

 

Laying with Iwaizumi and staring at the clouds, at the leaves, at the world around them – that’s where Oikawa wants to be.

 

Not here.

 

Whispers follow their every move around the grand ballroom as Oikawa and Kageyama trail dutifully after their mother. Nanahara Hikari truly lives up to her name; skillfully manouvering her way through the throngs of Upper class men and women whilst drawing even more attention her way.

 

Oikawa has always found it unnerving.

 

His mother has never seemed as desirable to him as everyone else might argue – she _is_ a beauty, that’s for sure, with long, silky, jet black hair and open, caramel tinted eyes. But otherwise, there is nothing _special_ about her. At least, there is nothing Oikawa can identify.

 

Watching the Black Widow work her charm is almost mesmerizing. She spins her web around the room before anyone can notice, plucking strings and manipulating feelings as easily as a flutter of her eyelashes and the small dip of her cleavage.

  
She’s gained a reputation for loving and leaving – a trail of dead husbands – yet no one seems to be able to resist her.

 

It’s utterly mind boggling.

 

Oikawa excuses himself politely and heads to the refreshments table, clucking his tongue quietly when he the feeling of eyes on his body doesn’t disappear. “What is it, Tobio-chan?”

 

Kageyama startles from where he thinks he’s following Oikawa discreetly, large blue eyes staring up at his older brother with an odd combination of uncertainty and determination. “It’s… weird, with mother. Not that mother is weird. It’s just, it feels weird being there.”

 

Oikawa sighs, maintaining the smile crafted from the brotherly affection he’d painstakenly gathered from the pit of his soul. “Let’s go get some food.”

 

Honestly, it’s not that Oikawa doesn’t sympathize with Kageyama. It’s bad enough that the two of them are treated like accessories, the live display of what their mother must think of as her humanity, but watching one’s mother flirting with a bunch of men isn’t exactly an experience the brunette thinks children should ever be exposed to.

 

“…So very pretty, like their mother.” An old lady mentions, behind the shade of her embroidered fan. The group of older men and women nod and agree with her as Oikawa and Kageyama pass by, their eyes raking over young bodies like a pack of predators. “Such a pity that every father figure they could ever have doesn’t survive the year.”

 

Although Oikawa is able to hold his pleasant smile, leading them closer towards the promised desserts, Kageyama stiffens ever-so-slightly.

 

Sure, their mother might have had a string of husbands they couldn’t care less about, but two of those men actually were their fathers. Oikawa hates when people forget that.

 

“Hey, Nanahara, right?” A pink-haired boy greets them, making sure to address both Oikawa and Kageyama. He’s leaning casually against the table, long fingers tossing a cream puff into his awaiting mouth. “I’m Hanamaki. Hanamaki Takahiro.”

 

Hanamaki. They’re a traditional martial arts family, passing down techniques through the generations. If Oikawa remembers correctly, Takahiro is the third child – a little further down the inheritance than Oikawa would prefer, but still possibly useful.

 

“Right. Nanahara Tooru.” Oikawa smiles with his eyes closed, pushing Kageyama forwards gently. They may prefer using their father’s last names in private, but it’s only appropriate to fall back on the Nanahara name in these sort of public events. No matter how much Oikawa hates it. “This is my little brother, Nanahara Tobio.”

 

“Cool.” Hanamaki nods, and procures another cream puff from the swollen dessert table. His eyes are sharp as they scan the crowd around them. “This party’s such a bust, don’t’ya think? It’s boring as hell.”

 

“There’s no helping it.” Oikawa replies as Kageyama goes to inspect the many piles of baked goods, finally settling on a golden-crusted milk tart. “Mother likes socialising at these sort of parties, for some reason.”

 

“Oh right.” Hanamaki huffs out a bark of laughter, linking his hands together behind his head. “Nanahara Hikari, right? You two are probably going to be my brothers if my mother doesn’t survive till the end of the year. Cancer, and all that.”

 

At that, Oikawa’s eyebrows disappear under his fringe; Kageyama fumbling with his plate in shock. Hanamaki looks around sixteen, Oikawa’s age, and his blatant honesty is entirely unexpected. He hadn’t even batted an eye at the mention of his mother’s death, or the fact that she could very well be replaced before the year is over. It’s rather… surprising.

 

Hanamaki Takahiro is _interesting_.

 

“Tooru, Tobio – there you are!” The sweet, dulcet tone of their mother is like honey, and both boys turn around obediently. Nanahara Hikari strides up to them easily; the crowd parting for her like the red sea. Her dress shimmers under the soft yellow light, as do the many jewels on a flashy diamond necklace. A _new_ , flashy diamond necklace.

 

“The minister wants to meet the both of you.” Their mother says, sparing a sweet smile and a nod at Hanamaki; who raises his eyebrows and reaches for another cream puff. She frowns down at Kageyama, and reaches to straighten his bowtie and pat down hair in the exact shade as hers. “Tooru, you’re perfect as usual. C’mon now.”

 

Oikawa turns to nod goodbye at Hanamaki, before following his mother and his younger brother back into the mingling crowd. His mother’s slender fingers are wrapped around Kageyama’s, even though they have to be sticky from his snack, and he just knows that the dark-haired boy is going to get a scolding for it later.

 

For now, though, it’s the Black Widow’s showtime. She has to be flawless – and being a perfect mother is part of the act.

 

Watching the people turn as they pass, Oikawa shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s perfected the nonchalant look for his mother’s occasions; the playboy model to Kageyama’s cute subserviancy.

 

Only sometimes, he wishes he had more striking features.

 

Kageyama’s eyes are a brilliant blue, and standing out in a crowd is what he’s always done best. If he keeps quiet and doesn’t move – well, Kageyama would look absolutely amazing as a doll. Oikawa, on the other hand, posseses brown hair and brown eyes, and only has his fake, try-hard charm to offer.

 

Beside his brother, Oikawa is _plain_.

 

And it’s not fair at all, just because they had different fathers.

 

Oikawa lets out a light sigh; unnoticeable to anyone observing him. He wishes he were anywhere but here. He wishes he were with Iwaizumi – now that would be ideal. A place where he and Iwaizumi could be together.

 

_“Wouldn’t it be nice if we ruled the world?”_

 

Oikawa’s fists clench into little balls.

 

Iwaizumi was the first person to see Oikawa as himself, and, even though he hits Oikawa sometimes and calls him trashykawa and shittykawa – well, Oikawa never feels plain or unloved when he’s with Iwaizumi. And he likes it.

 

He likes it a lot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Of Breadcrumb Trails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support guys :D It's really heartening to see that people love this universe! Enjoy <3

 

 

“Oi,” Iwaizumi says, cocking his chin as they settle under their favourite tree. He’d been out under the sun for awhile before Oikawa arrived, and his skin already posseses a bronzed, sunkissed glow. “Your brother is here.”

 

Oikawa follows his gaze and, sure enough, identifies a head of dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. The brunette sulks at the familiar sight, pulling at his eye and sticking out his tongue at his younger brother.

 

Kageyama startles, and ducks back behind a far away tree.

 

“I don’t get it.” One of Iwaizumi’s eyebrows is raised in question when Oikawa turns back to him. “Why do you hate Kageyama so much?”

 

Oikawa laughs. He outright _chortles_ , doubling over where he’s seated on a large root and almost falling over in the process. He’s so preoccupied that he fails to see the scowl that takes form on Iwaizumi’s face, just before he kicks off his slipper and throws it at Oikawa’s head. Caught off guard, the latter squawks unattractively and actually does fall over.

 

“I’m serious, idiotkawa!” Iwaizumi yells, and then takes a deep breath to calm himself while he waits for Oikawa to right himself again. His voice is softened considerably when he speaks again. “I don’t understand why. He just seems to really want to get closer to you.”

 

“Iwa-chan, you’re mean.” Oikawa snorts, haughtily, as he fixes his hair, but there’s a certain set to his mouth that tells Iwaizumi that his friend is serious. His voice is softer, as well, reluctant to let Kageyama overhear. “I don’t hate Tobio-chan _that_ much.”

 

Iwaizumi’s face contorts as he shoots Oikawa a look of disbelief.

 

“Yeah, well, our family’s just really competitive, okay. If you can even call it that.” Oikawa sighs, hugging his legs to his chest and resting his cheek on his knee. “We’re both fighting for Mother’s approval, all the time. He’s like a rival, or something.”

 

“Okay, now you’re just being melodramatic.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, leaning back against the tree trunk with his arms folded to cushion his head. “What if you’re rivals? You’re still brothers, aren’t you? You got that woman’s blood in your veins. You just don’t _want_ to make the effort to get to know him better.”

 

Oikawa gasps, and surges forward to seize Iwaizumi by the shoulders. “Iwa-chan!! Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

 

Iwaizumi startles at the sudden proximity and flushes a little red. Slapping a hand against Oikawa’s cheek, the shorter of the two attempt to pry Oikawa from his body. “Shut up- you’re too close-!”

 

The sudden sound of screeching tires pulls both their gazes from each other, just in time to see a van skidding round the corner. Frowning and straightening up, Oikawa watches as it slides to a stop; side door swinging open almost violently to reveal a bunch of black-clad men.

 

“Fuck,” Oikawa swears eloquently, slipping on his shoes as he stumbles to his feet. Iwaizumi reads the situation as quickly and sprints after him, frown marring his features. In a public park on the edge of the slums, there’s few things that are as valuable as the sons of the richest woman in the city.

 

“Tobio! Run!” Oikawa shouts, panting hard as he flails his hands in Kageyama’s direction. Blue eyes peek out from behind a tree trunk just as Oikawa is abruptly tackled to the ground by one of the men. He lands on the floor roughly, grunting in pain as his cheek scrapes against the ground.

 

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the heavy weight on his back vanishes and the sound of skin hitting skin reaches Oikawa’s ears. Flipping himself over, the brunette watches, wide-eyed, as Iwaizumi delivers punch after punch; pummeling the man into the ground.

 

Soon enough, however, Oikawa is grabbed by another one of their assailants. He elbows the guy in the ribs, _hard_ , which gives him enough freedom to whirl around and kick him in the groin.

 

The sense of victory that floods his senses is short-lived.

 

“Move and the little one gets it.”

 

Oikawa freezes immediately, as though he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water, and turns wide eyes to the leader of the group. He’s tall, taller than Oikawa, and much bigger. Light, almost white-blonde hair sits in a messy heap atop his head, and his expression is grim as he pins a struggling Kageyama against his chest. The dark-haired boy’s face is turning red, hands clinging onto the forearm that is pressed mercilessly against his jugular – and, as if suffocation wasn’t enough, the gun pressed to his brother’s temple has Oikawa raising his arms in surrender.

 

“Let him go!” Oikawa frowns, grunting as his arms are yanking behind him and bound; rough ropes cutting harshly into his skin. Kageyama’s wide blue eyes dart to Oikawa, and the older boy averts his gaze to look at the blonde man. “He’s just a kid.”

 

“A _valuable_ kid.” The man grins, sharkily, but nonetheless releases the stranglehold he has on Kageyama. He’s probably looking for easy money in the form of a ransom, if they are worth more to him alive.

 

Oikawa’s frown deepens as they’re shepherded back towards the van – it’s _broad daylight_ , yet no one has noticed them. He curses himself for choosing to meet Iwaizumi in such a secluded area of the park, even though it felt like a good idea at the time.

 

“Hey! Hey! Help us!” Oikawa’s head snaps around when he hears Iwaizumi shouting. He’s being wrestled into submission by two men, yet he’s still struggling like a wild animal. Following his friend’s line of sight, Oikawa’s heart stutters when he sees the distinctive navy of a police officer’s uniform.

 

Before Oikawa can say anything, a piece of cloth is stuffed into his mouth.

 

“Spit it out, and we’ll see how deep of a cut it takes for your pretty face to be permanently ruined, yeah?” The blonde man warns, the small smirk on his face foreboding. Oikawa’s blood runs cold in his veins, and he can only watch silently as the men punch Iwaizumi in the face and slap a piece of duct tape over his mouth.

 

“Get in.” The man holding onto Oikawa orders, and, without waiting, shoves Oikawa into the back of the van. He lands on iwaizumi, who groans and aims a disgruntled glare at him. Oikawa rolls off his friend and winces when he lands a little too heavily on his side. A second later, Kageyama is tossed in with them as well, Oikawa twisting away so that his younger brother doesn’t flatten him.

 

“Officer-san.” Oikawa hears, as the door is slammed shut. It’s the blonde man, and his menacing tone has taken a sickly sweet turn. The brunette exchanges a wide-eyed look with Iwaizumi. “You didn’t see anything here, right?”

 

There is somemore murmuring, before the blonde man is sliding into the drivers seat and turning on the engine. Having dropped all pretense, the now-familiar scowl is etched on his features. “Five hundred just for a closed eye, why don’t he just rob us?”

 

“You could’a just killed him, Saito-san.” Another man pipes up from the passenger seat. He says something more, but Oikawa can’t bother to make out what it is because he’s reeling with shock.

 

Oikawa has always known, of course, that corruption runs rampant and unchecked in his city. It’s something he’s always known; that bribery is how people get away with things they would normally be sent to prison for. He’s met the Chief of Police a few times – Terushima Youichi – at some of his mother’s parties, and he’s as much the greedy walrus as the rumours say.

 

He’s just never thought he’d be victimised by it this way, not with the amount of money his family has.

 

It’s ironic that that same money is what’s gotten them into this situation in the first place.

 

“Nanahara-san.” The blonde man’s – _Saito’s_ – mocking call pulls Oikawa back to reality, and his eyes dart to meet a pair of beady, narrowed eyes in the rearview mirror. “You and your brother are going to make us _a lot_ of money, Nanahara-san.”

 

Oikawa’s lip curls in disgust, and he steels his gaze, even though it’s just a brave front for how he’s actually really scared. Something like this has never happened before. He’d never thought something like this would actually happen, since it’s always seemed like something from a drama or a movie.

 

Iwaizumi’s arm bumps into his side harder than if he’d just been following the momentum of the van. Oikawa twists his head to meet his friend’s concerned stare with his own, worried gaze, before some kind of cloth is fitted over his eyes and everything goes black.

 

The terrified boy immediately begins thrashing in a panic; his thoughts a jumbled mess of _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_ -

 

Oikawa’s arm is taken in a steel-like grasp, forcibly stilled, before there is a sharp pinprick on the inner side of his elbow and he feels no more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. What Big Teeth You Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wriggles eyebrows* Hope you guys are liking this so far!! Quick reminder to take note of the warnings, though. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

 

 

“You two don’t look alike at all, huh?” Saito comments as he surveys Oikawa and Kageyama from head to toe and back again. Still gagged, Oikawa just glares angrily at the blonde man as he shifts, knees digging painfully into the hard ground. Saito sniffs in response, and steps forward, towards him. “Although you’re both still so weirdly pretty, like girls.”

 

Oikawa winces when the duct tape is ripped off his face, bending over to spit out the wad of cloth that had been shoved into his mouth.

 

“Now, what to do with your friend over here?” Saito’s grin is nasty as he approaches Iwaizumi, hands in his pockets. He cocks his head, so that a bit of blonde fringe is falling into one of his eyes, and turns his attention to Oikawa. “He’s not useful to us at all.”

 

Backing away from Iwaizumi, Saito snaps his fingers. The two men standing behind Iwaizumi advance on him – and Oikawa has to stifle a shocked gasp when one of them suddenly punches his friend in the gut. Iwaizumi chokes, a low groan muffled by duct tape, as he falls onto his side.

 

Oikawa’s palms start to sweat as he watches helplessly, sinking feeling weighing his stomach down. The men are ruthless; wearing matching grins as they deliver kick after kick to Iwaizumi’s stomach and back.

 

“Stop! Let him go!” Oikawa finally snarls, shuffling forward on his knees. The ropes binding his feet together are too strong, and his head is still a little out of sorts from being tackled onto the ground, but he’s still trying his best to reach his best friend. “Like you said, he doesn’t have anything to do with this. You don’t have any reason to hurt him!”

 

Saito’s eyes widen a little, before he bursts out in loud, raucous laughter. Oikawa maintains his glare as a shield, although the glint in his eyes is more uncertain than anything. The blonde man seems volatile, almost, like he’s unhinged in a way Oikawa can’t identify, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

 

“We don’t need a reason to beat someone up, do we, boys?” Saito says, stepping forward and carding his hands through Oikawa’s hair. The answering round of laughter has Saito tugging roughly at Oikawa’s thick locks, tilting his head so that he has no other choice but to look the blonde man in the eyes. “Since you won’t let us entertain ourselves with your friend, let’s have some _fun_ with you and your brother instead.”

 

“No-!” Oikawa’s protest is cut off when Saito mashes their lips together, almost violently biting into his bottom lip. The gasp that it incites allows Saito to shove his tongue into Oikawa’s open mouth, fingers digging painfully into his jaw.

 

From the corner of Oikawa’s blurry gaze, he sees another pair of men approaching Kageyama; one of them pinning him down onto the floor while the other starts unbuttoning the his shirt. The dark-haired boy is so terrified that Oikawa can see him shaking, even from where he’s kneeling.

 

Oikawa’s hands curl into fists at his sides.

 

Kageyama is an insufferable brat, he really is – stealing all the things that should have been Oikawa’s with natural magnetism and deep blue eyes. It’s not fair, how the difference in their genetics gives the otherwise awkward boy such a large advantage over him.

 

Oikawa really can’t help but hold it against his brother. He really can’t help but hate Kageyama silently, really can’t help but push away those eager gazes because the hatred he has will only fester and spread like a diseased wound.

 

But Iwaizumi is also right in the fact that Kageyama is still related to him by blood – blood that Oikawa sometimes refuses to acknowledge, but blood nonetheless.

 

Kageyama is Oikawa’s _brother_ , and fuck him if he isn’t humane enough to put aside his hatred for one time in a long while and treat Kageyama as such.

 

Saito swears loudly, the words coming out garbled, when Oikawa bites down on his lip; tearing into skin and muscle. He refuses to let go until he’s pushed onto the ground, spitting crimson droplets onto the cement floor.

 

“You little-” Saito begins, wiping the blood off on the back of his hand. He’s flushed an angry red as he towers over Oikawa, and the latter feels cold sweat gathering on his back. This might have been a mistake – probably _is_ one, but Oikawa isn’t someone who does things half-heartedly.

 

“Don’t _fucking_ touch either one of them.” Oikawa surprises himself with how fierce he sounds – the many tones he’s practiced to make his mother happy have never included this one. “Tobio’s- Tobio’s _twelve_! And Iwaizumi has nothing do with whatever you want with us. Do whatever you want to me, but _don’t_ touch them.”

 

One of Saito’s eyebrows rises, as if in quick contemplation, before Oikawa’s knocked back down and a heavy boot is cutting into his cheek.

 

“Fine.” Oikawa’s heart stutters when he registers Saito’s reply, and the tension he hadn’t even realised had been present leaks out of his core as he watches the men pull away from both Iwaizumi and Kageyama. “Since you’re so ready to be a martyr, I’ll offer you a deal.”

 

The foot is gone, but in its place is Saito’s hand around his throat; cutting off his air supply with a simple squeeze. Oikawa ignores how Kageyama calls out for him, still muffled behind his gag – he’s not doing this for Kageyama. This is entirely for Oikawa, and Oikawa’s humanity. Not Kageyama.

 

“This is our headquarters. We’ll let you go, and if you can find your way out – well, we’ll let you go to the police, or whatever, and you can come back to rescue your two friends.” Saito’s expression is testing, challenging, and there’s a wicked glint to his beady eyes. Oikawa’s heart stops when the blonde man pulls a dagger from his holster, digging it softly into the bloody grazes on Oikawa’s cheek. “Since I’m in a good mood, I’ll give you twenty minutes. I’ve always loved a game of cat and mouse.”

 

Oikawa squares his jaw as Saito saws at the knots binding his limbs together. There’s definitely a catch to this, somewhere, and Oikawa knows that he’s at a severe disadvantage, but he doesn’t have any other choice – it’s an opportunity for escape that he can’t pass up.

 

Narrowing his eyes in a hiss, the brunette rubs at his sore ankles with equally stiff hands and feels the small pricks start to spread below his skin. With his limbs still warming up after having blood circulation cut off for so long, Oikawa knows that he won’t be able to run as fast as he can normally.

  
“Your twenty minutes starts now.” Saito announces, crossing his arms, as Oikawa stumbles into a run. Somehow, he feels like a coward, running away from Iwaizumi and Kageyama like that, even though he knows he’s doing this for their sake.

 

Saito’s haunting laughter doesn’t help one bit.

 

They’re being kept in a warehouse of sorts, so Oikawa runs towards the broken exit signs as a start. The first two emergency doors he tries are locked, but the third one gives way after a few strong pushes; orange tinted sunlight streaming into the darker hallway.

 

It’s nothing reassuring, however, as Oikawa soon learns that the junkyard surrounding the building is more of a maze than the inside of the warehouse could ever be.

 

Eerie shadows swirl together in a confusing kaleidescope as the setting sun is blocked out by especially tall towers of garbage, the otherwise shorter piles leading Oikawa into countless dead ends. The ground is made of compacted dirt that has the pampered boy sluggish and panting for breath within a few minutes, his heart beating hard and fast in an effort to keep up.

 

Panic swells as he turns the corner and bumps into one of Saito’s men – _is his time already up_? Feeling helpless frustration bubbling nauseously in his chest, the brunette spins around and sprints in the opposite direction, only to spot another black-clothed man.

 

Oikawa can’t do anything but run, stumbling and falling over a few times in his wild hysteria. This had been their only chance, yet he’d fucked it up. How will they ever get out of this hell? Will his mother even pay the ransom? Do they mean that much to her? And what of Iwaizumi, the son of an alcoholic slum dweller? He’s scared to the point of absolute terror.

 

“Nuh-uh-uh.” Without any other warning, Saito grabs Oikawa; his large hands enveloping Oikawa’s shoulders and a large, victorious grin plastered across his features.

 

Eyes widening in horror, Oikawa pries the blonde man’s hands away from him and flees in the other direction. Saito had said that he’d always enjoyed a game of cat and mouse, and Oikawa is smart enough to realise that they’re _herding_ him.

 

The sounds of growling and loud snapping draws near as Oikawa spots the top of a chain-link fence over the top of the piles of garbage. _There_. He’s almost made it.

 

Frustration getting the better of him, the brunette scrambles up a shorter pile of junk, ignoring the burn in his legs and his hands in his best efforts to get away. Falling over onto the other side of the small hill, Oikawa ungracefully rolls over and lands on the dirt with a huff.

 

The fence is right in front of him, but the sounds of snarling are right behind him as well. Not to mention, Oikawa’s leg hurts – his foot is bent at an awkward angle, and he can hardle hobble without a sharp pain shooting up the length of his entire leg. The tears are falling down his cheeks uncontrollably, now, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Oikawa has never been one to cry openly, but this desperation – it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.

 

“Help! Someone, please!” Oikawa cries, fingers curling around the gaps in the fence. He sucks in a deep breath, about to shout once more, but there is a sudden, paralysing pain in his thigh that has him screaming in agony instead.

 

He’s dragged onto the ground, close to wailing as pointed incisors dig into the flesh at the wrist he has protecting his face. There’s so much blood, spilling red and thick all over the place; staining the dirt below him a darker brown. _It hurts, it hurts-_ Oikawa’s eyes are wide but blurry with tears as he tries to shake off the _dogs_ – the large, snarling kind with the big, sharp teeth and the beady eyes – but he’s hurting all over and his limbs are too _weak_.

 

It seems like forever before the pain is finally gone and Saito is bending down to look at him with a face filled with mock pity. “Told ya, Nanahara-san.”

 

Oikawa directs his darkening gaze towards the fence – he was _so fucking close_ – and allows himself to be lifted into strong arms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Bibbidi Bobbidi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings guys look at the warnings!!! Also this has turned out more Oikawa-centric than I first planned but let's just roll with it yeah
> 
> Enjoy ;)

 

 

Oikawa lands roughly on the carpeted floor of a ratty, worn-down office that can only be Saito’s. Crying out in pain when his ankle is joustled in the movement, the brunette’s vision swims.

 

“I told ya, didn’t I?” Saito smirks when Oikawa flinches away from him, curling up into a tight ball and backing himself into the wall – as far away as he can get with a broken leg. He’s clutching desperately at the viciously deep bite marks on his thigh, but it’s a futile action because they leak bright crimson with every little movement. The blonde man isn’t fazed by this, and bends down to grab Oikawa’s jaw. “You’re not going anywhere, pretty boy.”

 

Oikawa screams, kicking his good leg and struggling wildy as Saito tries to grab him; calloused hands digging into the flesh at his his hips. Saito grunts in pain when one of Oikawa’s punches connects with his face, a growl rumbling from his chest as he curls his fingers around the smaller boy’s injured foot.

 

Pain like lightning shoots through Oikawa’s nerves, body convulsing from the sensory overload. Shivers wrack his frame as Saito leans down over him; a single, large hand pinning Oikawa’s wrists onto the floor.

 

“S-Stop, you can’t- you can’t do this.” Oikawa’s voice comes out soft and harsh, his stomach turning and twisting in ways that make him feel like expelling its contents onto the floor. Everything is hurting. He’s still out of breath from sprinting for so long without rest, and he’s so frightened he can’t seem to stop himself from trembling. “You can’t-”

 

“Who’s stopping me, huh?” Saito barks out a laugh, leaning down to sink his teeth into the juncture of Oikawa’s neck. The brunette whimpers, wriggling underneath him. “You’re _powerless_ , Nanahara-san. You tried, I’ll give’ya that, but in the end, you can’t do _squat_ ‘bout this.”

 

Oikawa outright flinches when Saito’s mouth latches back onto the length of his neck; slimy tongue lapping against the marks he leaves behind. The entire situation makes him feel disgusting and _sullied_ , somehow, as if no shower could ever erase the dirt Saito is leaving behind.

 

“I should call you _Tooru_ instead.” The blonde man chuckles to himself as he pulls away, working Oikawa’s pants and underwear down till the younger boy is naked below the hips. “Make things feel more.. _intimate_.”

 

Oikawa’s breath hitches when his cheeks are spread apart and a finger is pushed through tight rings of muscle. It’s a different kind of pain from anything he’s ever felt before, burning and stretching away at his insides. This can’t- It’s _not possible_. Things like this don’t happen in real life, things like this don’t happen to _him_!

 

Saito’s words keep repeating in Oikawa’s head, as if on some kind of sick loop that won’t stop. _You’re powerless. You’re powerless. You’re power_ -

 

Oikawa wishes he were with Iwaizumi, under their favourite tree, like they would have been if this hadn’t happened. With the wind whistling softly through branches, joustling leaves that fall around them like rain. And even Kageyama, with his infuriating blue eyes, is there. Hiding behind their tree, playing with the leaves when he thinks both Oikawa and Iwaizumi are asleep.

 

“Nuh-uh, _Tooru_ , you don’t get to do that.” Oikawa feels his breath knocked out of his lungs when Saito’s arms circle around his torso and tug him into the air. His hips smack, hard, against the corner of a wooden desk as he’s bent over it; ass lifted up into the air.

 

Oikawa has no choice but to snap his head backwards as far as it can go when Saito’s fingers pull on a fistful of it mercilessly. The pain grounds him, keeping him from falling back into the reccesses of his mind.

 

There is the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone, and then something warm and wet and _hard_ is grinding against his ass crack.

 

“You're so tight, Tooru,” Saito whispers, his hot breath fanning against Oikawa’s ear. The blonde is rutting shamelessly against him, precum lubricating the outside of his hole. “This is your first, isn’t it? How does it feel, baby? How does it feel to be losing your virginity to someone like me?”

 

With a low sob, Oikawa shuts his eyes as tightly as he can. Saito was right. Oikawa is _powerless_. He’s utterly helpless against his kidnapper, and he can’t – won’t be able to – stop this from happening. The numbness in his chest is unsettling, like a black hole that’s sucking up his emotions in the hope that his mental state will survive the ordeal.

 

“You ready, Tooru?” Saito chuckles, biting down on Oikawa’s ear lobe. The tip of his dick is pushing against Oikawa’s asshole, insistently but not yet with enough force to penetrate. “Too bad about your little brother though, he looks like a _way better fuck with those pretty blue_ -”

 

Without warning, the door slams open from the outside. Saito whirls around immediately, fury colouring his tone. “Who the _fuck_ dares to-”

 

The large blonde man cuts off abruptly, for some reason, and the hand he has gripping Oikawa’s hip loosens just slightly. “A-Ah, Kuroo-san, you’re early-”

 

“Wow. I pegged you for a creep, but this? You’re fucking disgusting.” An unfamiliar voice greets them, and suddenly, Saito is withdrawing and zipping his pants again. Oikawa crumples onto the ground; curling into a tight ball and backing himself into the desk in terror. His eyes are wide open, and he’s started shaking twice as hard as before.

 

The other man in the room is tall, a jet-black mess of hair piled on his head. His eyes are a cutting gold, and Oikawa feels a chill running down his spine when their gazes meet – there’s something oddly cold about them. Otherwise, however, this Kuroo person looks like just another teenager.

 

“I apologize, Kuroo-san, you weren’t meant to see-” Saito begins, almost humbly, before a haughty snort makes him pause.

 

“If there’s any more shit going on that’s gonna scar Koushi permanently, you’re gonna get rid of it now.” Kuroo steps forward, cocking his head to the side and staring Saito down, even though the blonde man is taller and older. “Or we’re going to have a problem.”

 

“Don’t over react, Tetsu.” Oikawa’s hazy mind registers a gentle voice and a flash of silver, before large, golden eyes are peering into his own. This boy looks even younger than the first, pixie-like features accompanying a small beauty mark below his eye.

 

“S-Sugawara-san, as well?” Saito sounds nervous, for some reason. “I didn’t know-”

 

“Hey, hey, focus on me. This is gonna hurt.” The boy – Sugawara? – says, and Oikawa obeys. There’s a gentle hand feeling out the area around his swollen ankle, so lightly the brunette can hardly feel it. “You’re gonna breathe, in and out and- that’s it-” Before Oikawa has time to think, a sudden, sharp pain has him yowling in pain. Sugawara sits back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “I set your foot so that it’ll heal right.”

 

“What did you do? Put him in a dog fight?” Kuroo is saying, his voice sounding far away. More words are exchanged as Sugawara drags a finger on the skin of Oikawa’s thigh, lubricated by the lines of blood snaking down his legs and pooling on the floor.

 

Oikawa’s entire body feels weak, and his vision keeps fading in and out of focus. Is he losing too much blood? That must be it. Is he going to die? He hopes that they’ll leave Iwaizumi alone, and let Kageyama go when – if – their mother pays the ransom.

 

In the end, Oikawa is still powerless. He hadn’t been able to do anything at all, even though those two boys had made Saito submit like it was nothing. What makes them any different from him? What do they have that Oikawa _doesn’t_?

 

Power?

 

Is that the answer?

 

Oikawa blearily notes that he’s being carried; handled gentler than he’s been the entire day. He’s on someone’s back – it’s warm, and the slow rocking is lulling the exhausted boy to sleep.

 

“-Spades, right?” A voice murmurs from his right. “The silver-haired one’s their leader’s son.”

 

“Yeah.” The guy carrying Oikawa mumbles his assent. “The Royal Flush’s scary as fuck. I hope Saito-san doesn’t have any beef with’em, or we’re pretty much fucked.”

 

The Royal Flush?

 

Oikawa remembers the words, as if from a distant dream. He’s heard his mother talking about them before, some kind of explosive new gang that’s been more successful than any other. They’ve become a powerhouse in recent times, slowly working their corruption into the already twisted justice system.

  
He’s never really been interested in it before – blood and hard work has never appealed to him, so he’s always dismissed it as background information for his networking.

 

But now, though, _everything_ has changed.

 

The Royal Flush gave those two boys the strength to stand up to Saito. It gave them the influence to make Saito bow to them, to apologize to them, to follow their every order. It gave them the upper hand, an advantage over Saito that has him grovelling at their feet and fearful.

 

The Royal Flush is power.

 

And Oikawa _needs_ power.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. True Loves' Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update guys, I haven't had any time to write at all this week. This chapter was actually pre-written last week :( Hope you enjoy it anyway :D Your support is really appreciated <3

 

 

Oikawa wakes up in pain, cold sweat dotting his forehead.

 

Although his entire body feels grimy – covered in sweat and dirt and other things that Oikawa doesn’t want to think about – moving his arms in an attempt to right himself brings his attention to the white cloth stretched neatly around his right forearm. His legs are the problematic part, since dark blood is starting to stain the bandage wrapped around his thigh.

 

A sharp pain shoots through Oikawa’s system when he tries to move his broken foot, and he curls in on himself as a reflex. There is a thin plank of wood tied against the ball of his ankle, and that, at least, helps with the pain.

 

Further inspection of his surroundings has Oikawa’s heart plunging into the depths of his stomach.

 

He’s lying on the floor, in a cage made of a wall and four sides of garbled metal. The combination of Oikawa’s blurry gaze and lack of any lighting has resulted in low visibility anywhere more than ten feet away from his fingertips, and he can’t make out anything other than dark shadows. Oikawa does know that he’s slept through the night, since the crack in the ceiling exposes a slowly lightening purple sky, but he doesn’t feel like he’s had any rest at all.

 

But all of this is trivial when compared to the one most condemning fact – Oikawa is _alone_.

 

The room, space, whatever it is, is empty, and his own breathing is the only thing Oikawa can hear. That means that there’s also no sign of either Iwaizumi or Kageyama anywhere.

 

And that also means that Oikawa has no idea what has happened to them, and has no way of protecting them like he tried to the day before.

 

Oikawa groans softly as he pushes himself off the hard ground, fighting against the wave of pounding in his head. _Tried to_. He’d tried to help, but he’d failed and landed himself in even more trouble than before. Now, Oikawa doesn’t even know what’s happening, doesn’t even know why he’s being kept in isolation like this.

 

_“Too bad about your little brother though, he looks like a_ _way better fuck with those pretty blue_ -”

 

Oikawa jolts at the memory and hisses in pain when he accidentally aggravates his leg. No, _no_ , it can’t possibly be, can it? An odd mix of hatred and frustration joins the worry already settled in his heart. Kageyama has always stolen the spotlight from him in the most ignorant, insensitive manner, so could it have happened this time as well?

 

Oikawa nibbles on his bottom lip. Those people from the day before – he can’t remember what their names are, anymore, and he’s only a little better in terms of recalling what they look like. The only thing Oikawa is certain of is that they’re from a gang called the Royal Flush, and that silver-haired boy with the golden eyes, who had smiled at him so nicely and helped him set his foot, is an heir to one of their factions.

 

Oikawa is sure that those boys had something do with his current predicament, he just doesn’t know how or why, and it’s-

 

A soft, shuffling noise from the other side of the room has Oikawa’s thoughts coming to an abrupt halt. He pauses, listening hard for any noises, while squinting as hard as he can into the darkness.

 

“Who’s there?” Oikawa calls, his voice rough from overuse, when he hears the soft shuffling again – it is too deep in the darkness for the him to identify. Against his better judgement, Oikawa shuffles towards the bars of his cage and curls dirt-encrusted fingers around the twisted metal bars.

 

The form that melts out of the darkness is lithe and liquid in the way it moves, almost like a snake. Shadows retreating as it steps into the light, Oikawa makes out dark hair swept neatly to the side and narrowed, slit-like eyes.

 

“I take it you’re Nanahara Tooru-san?” The man asks, his polite smile forming goosebumps on the skin of Oikawa’s arms. As the colours slowly bleed back into the unfamiliar man’s silhouette, the Oikawa eyes the man’s navy blue uniform with barely concealed disdain.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Still sporting a strangely cherubic tilt of the lips, the unfamiliar man approaches Oikawa’s cage smoothly. Stopping a few feet away, he falls into a graceful, if not mocking, bow. “Officer Daishou Suguru, at your service. If you’ll step away from the bars, Nanahara-san.”

 

Daishou is oddly young for a fully-fledged policeman, but Oikawa does what he says anyway – and he’s glad he does when twin, muted shots destroy the large lock on the door of his cage.

 

“Don’t touch me.” Oikawa snaps, when the police officer drags it open and makes to help him up. Daishou pauses in his step and raises a brow, gesturing to Oikawa’s very swollen and very broken ankle. When the younger boy’s glare doesn’t soften, he raises his splayed palms in a calming motion and backs away.

 

Oikawa has no reason to trust this man, even if he’s wearing navy blue and owns a shiny badge. Grunting softly, he grips the bars and hauls himself into a standing position. “Did you find two others? Tobio and Iwaizumi?”

 

“My colleagues have that handled.” Daishou replies, almost too cheerfully for the situation. Oikawa exhales through his nose when utter relief floods his veins. They’re safe now. Everything will be fine – at least, mostly everything.

 

The officer jogs a few feet away to pick a long, wooden plank off the floor, handing it over to Oikawa as a makeshift crutch. Holstering his gun, Daishou watches patiently as his charge struggles his way out of the cage.

 

When Oikawa seems to have caught his breath, Daishou begins a slow walk to the exit; remaining a little in front of the brunette while keeping pace with his hobbling.

 

“And… Saito?” Oikawa’s voice wavers slightly, and he doesn’t miss the way the older boy perks at his accidental display of weakness.

 

“If you mean the blonde leader, then I’ve got him apprehended just outside here.” Daishou hums, holding the door open for him. They both squint at the sunlight, but the Oikawa’s eyes zero in on the blonde head of hair almost immediately.

 

Saito is handcuffed, chain linked through a pipe running up the wall of the warehouse. He’s kneeling, as he’d made Oikawa do in what seems like an eternity ago, and his bowed head snaps up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

 

Hatred, probably, and fear. The two emotions battling it out in Oikawa’s heart at the sight of the repulsive gang leader.

 

It’s a close fight; almost equally matched.

 

But the thing about Oikawa is that he has never been one to shy from his demons.

 

Hands curling into tight balls, the brunette impulsively reaches his arm out to unbuckle Daishou’s holster. It’s almost pathetically easy, how Oikawa pulls the gun out and presses the tip against the crown of Saito’s head. In any other circumstance, he would’ve wondered why Daishou hadn’t bothered to stop him – but, well, the rage bubbling in his veins is more than enough to paint his vision red.

 

Oikawa seethes silently as he watches Saito’s features contort in fear. The blonde’s right eye is bloodshot and purpling, likely a result from a scuffle with Daishou, and his legs are bent in extremely awkward positions. Almost as though someone had broken them, so thoroughly he may never walk again.

 

Oikawa wants to make it so he doesn’t _breathe_ again.

 

Saito is spluttering something incoherent, little droplets of blood and spittle landing on Oikawa’s exposed forearm, but the there’s something stone cold – _dead_ – at the bottom of his heart that refuses to listen to the desperate ramblings of a man who should long be dead.

 

Clenching his jaw, Oikawa stares Saito down.

 

He’s never thought about killing a man before, because he never thought he’d ever need to. At points in time like these, Oikawa imagines that a never-ending spiel of thoughts should be running through his mind – to kill, or not to kill; whether avenging and taking revenge are the same thing, or if the blood he stains himself with will ever wash away.

 

Right now, however, Oikawa realises that he just can’t bring himself to care.

 

The condemning gunshots echo into the air, ringing in his ears like church bells at noon. The body kneeling before him slumps to the side the same time Daishou leans forward to, not ungently, pry the standard-issue gun from his blood-splattered hands. “Hey, kid, are you o-?”

 

Oikawa turns on his good leg and limps away, wiping his hand on his already soiled pant leg. His face is stiff, somehow, and he only realises it’s because he’s smiling widely when he drags fingers across bruised skin.

 

It feels good – so unexpectedly _satisfying_ – to hate someone so much that he wants to put a bullet through their skull and _actually do it_. Watching the life drain out of Saito’s eyes, the same way the anger leaks out from his body, is like ecstacy pumping through his veins.

 

Completely, entirely… euphoric.

 

It’s almost like a drug, and Oikawa can’t get enough of it. His quivering body and frazzled nerves are just a side effect he knows will fade with time, and with experience.

 

“How much do you want?” Oikawa pauses in his step, turning his head to the side so that he meets eyes with Daishou. “To keep quiet.”

 

The officer laughs, flicking blood off the barrel of his gun before pocketing it. “You’ve given me enough of a show, believe me. Never seen a _delicate young master_ like you.”

 

“That’s because I’m not one.” Oikawa retorts with an eye roll. He turns back around and continues what seems like a hideously long and arduous trek away from the building; expression darkening once he’s facing away. “At least not anymore.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Daishou hasn't shown up in the anime yet, which was why I wanted to wait before I wrote him, but this season is supposed to only be 10 episodes?? so I hope his characterisation isn't too off!)


	6. Huff and Puff and-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay ^^" Do go ahead and re-read the previous chapters if you've forgotten what this is about *nervous laughter*
> 
> Enjoy <3

 

“Tooru! I’ve never seen you so animated. Honestly.” The Nanahara Matriarch exclaims when Oikawa crosses paths with her, yet again on another one of his rampaging social excursions.

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, mother,” Oikawa chuckles, running a hand through his artfully styled hair. He’s not sure of how, exactly, their relationship had changed since he had been returned to her two months prior, but he knows that he’s done something right by stepping up and questioning her about the Royal Flush.

 

The blossoming relationship between Oikawa and his mother had been shadowed by one thing and one thing only – Kageyama.

 

The abduction – an act of _unrivaled malicious intents_ , according to the media – has only served to add fuel to the fire that is Oikawa’s competitive spirit. On the other hand, it had done something to Kageyama that just can’t seem to be fixed. Gone is the wide-eyed innocence society used to fawn over. Gone is the selfish, intrusive ignorance that made him the center of every conversation.

 

While Oikawa seemed to break out of the invisible confines that had held him captive, Kageyama had instead retreated into a cold and detached shell of his former wide-eyed self.

 

“My, you sure are adored, Tooru-kun.” The minister on his mother’s arm laughs, completely unaware of the hidden conversation between the pair. “I was telling Hikari here that I was worried you and Tobio-kun would have a hard time after the… incident.”

 

The air around Tooru sours immediately, even though his expression doesn’t change, and the minister feels a chill run down his spine. Even the Nanahara Matriarch’s gentle gaze hardens – more so as a warning to her son, than the man on her arm. The message is clear: _Don’t fuck this up_.

 

“No need to worry, Kirihara-san.” The smile Tooru aims at the minister is decidedly shark-like. He raises his champagne glass and turns. “If you will excuse me.”

 

“Tooru.”

 

His name, said like flowing honey, and Tooru freezes. For years to come, up till her untimely death, Nanahara Hikari’s voice would remain the only thing that could anchor Tooru down and halt him in his tracks.

 

Tilting his head, the brown-haired boy meets the gaze of his mother. She smiles. “Make me proud.”

 

Tooru’s eyes widen a little, and then he’s walking away.

 

There’s an odd sort of fluttering in his heart, and Tooru has to resist clutching at his aching chest. It’s not something that he’s felt before; a very curious sort of emotion, but there is no time to dwell on it because his attention is drawn to a particularly rowdy group of guests who’ve just entered the party.

 

Tooru doesn’t even require the sudden hush in the crowd, or the exchange of wary glances, to figure it out. He identifies them immediately – identifies _him_ immediately. Approximately a hundred and seventy centimeters, tussled jet-black hair, wide eyes and pupils like pinpoints.

 

_Moniwa Kaname_.

 

Tooru takes a sip of his champagne; partially to hide the small smirk pulling at his lips. Iwaizumi has always said that he’s a smug little fucker, but Tooru believes he only shows it when he actually deserves it.

 

This particular man? He’s Royal Flush. The King of the Hearts.

 

It’s a fucking _Jackpot_.

 

Tooru knows there’s no being subtle about this, not when Moniwa is constantly surrounded by his rabid followers. Tooru recognizes some of them from the files his mother has, of course, but none of them are as important to him as the King piece.

  
So Tooru waits. He waits for them to have their drinks, to ravage the buffet and terrorise the servers, and he tails them into the smoking room. By then, there is a new champagne glass in his hand; filled to the brim with sparkling liquid gold.

 

Two of Moniwa’s lackeys seem to be fighting.

 

The taller, blonde one and the brown-haired one are almost kissing, with how close they are. The latter has a shit-eating smirk stretching his lips as he gestures to the dartboard and the solid 8 he scored. This one is Futakuchi Kenji, the One of Hearts. The blonde one – a Kamasaki Yasushi, Ace – snarls a little and pulls away, stalking towards the box of darts on the table. “-Just watch me.”

 

There is a little period of silence where Kamasaki aims, and Futakuchi props himself up on the armrest of his King’s chair, before the dart is sailing in the air and landing on a 7.

 

The group bursts into simultaneous sound, and it’s then that Tooru glides up to them with a sleek smile.

 

Kamasaki falls silent, a threatening curl of his lip the only warning he’s giving. One of Futakuchi’s eyebrows arches. The towering, white-haired man standing behind Moniwa stiffens; beady eyes following his every move.

 

“Relax, big guy.” Tooru smiles. It’s meant to be reassuring, but it comes out more like a smirk. He places his glass on the table and picks up a dart, testing it between his fingers for a second. “Just wanted to join this little competition.”

 

It’s a good toss, and Tooru’s aim has always been impeccable.

 

He lands a 10.

 

The last Heart, a bearded man who’d remained silent the entire time, whistles in appreciation; breaking the tense atmosphere in an instant. Kamasaki shoots the man – Sasaya Takehito, Joker – a bitter glare, taking his gaze away from Tooru.

 

Futakuchi, on the other hand, stares Tooru down with narrowed eyes. It’s a piercing gaze, and Tooru can almost feel Futakuchi looking right through him.

 

“Nice throw.” The King’s voice is mellow and tentative, not at all commanding, or stern, like how Tooru had envisioned. It doesn’t seem like anything else about Moniwa is close to what Tooru expected either, his behaviour rather soft-spoken and absent-minded. “My friends are rather… rowdy. I apologise. I’m Moniwa Kaname.”

 

_I know._ Tooru thinks. Instead, he returns the small smile with his own. “Oikawa Tooru.”

 

“Yes, I know,” Moniwa’s grin widens a little, and Tooru manages to catch a glimpse of the true King residing inside this dull shell. Futakuchi turns to look at his King, expression slightly incredulous, but Moniwa ignores him. “The Black Widow’s son.”

 

Tooru laughs, the bubbles of mirth muffled against the rim of his glass. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

(-I’ll blow you all away.)

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

 

.

 

“Baby.” Kuroo simpers, swinging an arm around Suga’s shoulders. He eyes the stacks of cash the latter is counting. “Saito was a straight up _dick_ , but he at least made us some money while he was at it.”

 

Suga raises his brows and nods indulgently; eyes never actually leaving the green in the case, mouth never actually halting in his soft calculations.

 

“The thing I don’t get,” Kuroo continues, his tone turning dangerous. There is a low click, and then the dark-haired boy is pointing his gun at the figure on the couch. “Is why we had to use _him_.”

 

Sipping daintily at one of Suga’s favourite tea cups, Daishou Suguru places it back on its saucer and smiles acidly at the boy behind the gun. “No need to get so worked up, Kuroo- _san_.”

 

“I’m perfectly calm, Daishou- _san_.” Kuroo shoots back mockingly, but nonetheless re-holsters his handgun. Draping off Suga’s side, the hostile expression decorating Kuroo’s cat-like features fades into a lazy glower.

 

Daishou’s smirk widens. “Suga-san required a… more gentle touch with this one, and it’s not like anyone else in this room is skilled enough.”

 

“Gentle.” Kuroo scoffs. Pulling himself away from the silver-haired heir seems like somewhat of a challenge, but he ends up sitting himself on the couch opposite Daishou. “I can almost see your skin shedding.”

 

“You two fight like cats every time you meet.” Suga inputs, seemingly done with both Daishou and Kuroo. He tosses two bundles of cash to the Policeman, who plucks them out of the air with ease.

 

Nodding in thanks, Daishou sobers when he refocuses his glare on Kuroo; a touch of his true personality leaking through. “Unfortunately, I’m not very fond of _cats_.”

 

Suga’s smile is sweet and good-natured as he takes a seat beside Kuroo and places a comforting hand on his knee. “Thank you for your time, Daishou-san. The hostages were returned safe and unharmed?”

 

“As unharmed as they were found.” Daishou replies, his tone a little less antagonizing than if he were speaking to Kuroo. He pauses in a sip and looks up, as though suddenly recalling something particular. “The one boy, though. The tall one who looked like he got between a dog and its bone. You wouldn’t expect it, but he was _vicious_ – took the gun right out of my holster and shot Saito right between the eyes.”

 

“Oh really?” Suga hums quietly, his thoughts running into overdrive. He _did_ see something in those eyes, something that piqued his interest even though outwardly, they were dead and unfocused. Suga had almost brought the boy back to the Spades himself.

 

No matter. Suga thinks. It’s unlikely that he’ll ever see that boy again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

{End}

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first up, thank you all so much for your wonderful amazing support! We've reached 780 kudos on Royal Flush, which is something I could never have imagined!!!
> 
> I already have plans for the next few instalments for the Syndicate series, so do subscribe to know when the next one will be up :)) I am REALLY happy that you guys have enjoyed this AU as much as I do - I realised how much I missed writing it when I was doing this chapter. Please do check out my other fic, With the Rising Sun, while you're waiting for the next upload because I'll be focusing on that for now!
> 
> Thank you so much <333
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “Futakuchi shrugs, grimacing darkly. He should have drowned the skinny little fucker in his champagne the first time he’d met him, all those years ago. It would definitely have saved them a lot of trouble… and a lot of lives.” – Royal Flush, Chapter 34.


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